I woke up one morning to find that I had slept on my right arm, which had in turn fallen asleep. I took hold of it, shook it about in order to wake it up. Then I let go. It fell straight down and punched me on the nose, making me laugh. My arm was not a part of me and had a mind of its own.
This monday I had a panic attack at home, thankfully my little man was snoozing away on his nap. All of a sudden I couldn’t swallow and my throat felt like it was closing up and I thought I wouldn’t soon be able to breathe.
It was quite obvious what this was, so I managed to calm down very quickly, but my heart pounded for a good while afterwards.
Similar feeling to the time when I fainted in a party, the horrible helplessness of not being in control of yourself.
It seems that every time I come back to the same root problem, the fear of losing control. I never thought of myself as a control freak, just someone who has got a very clear idea how things should be done.
This might be one of the reasons behind this state of mind I am in now, something as mundane as sharing a living space with another person and trying to fit their ways of living around your own is stressing me out.
I am not finding this easy, on the contrary it is getting harder and harder to adjust to other people as years go by. Almost like somehow I am not myself until everyone else is away and the present moment belongs to me only.
This raises the question is it the real you what you are on the inside, or how others perceive you?
At which point my head starts to hurt and if I was the kind of person who shares photos of cute cats this would be the moment. I chose a vintage slot machine instead.
The doc didn’t ring. Went to the surgery to pickup prescription and query about the call that didn’t materialise. Not much luck, was just told to ring again tomorrow. Now, a bit peeved about this – but won’t go into a rant about the state of the NHS. I still got faith.
Interesting how internal things trouble me far more than external, I cannot affect them so I just let them be. Maybe it is an inbuilt obsession, trying to organise and control everything, thus tying myself more and more into a knot.
I am so tired that I see double. Partly not being able to sleep per se, and partly thanks to an overexcited toddler who relives daily adventures in his dreams and wakes up for a drink and a chat.
I ended up sleeping on the nursery floor again, with a teddy as a pillow. It is surprisingly comfy, all things considered. I heard the church bell ring six times, and the young man happily babbling away in his bed.
They are magical moments those moments in the nursery at night, even though my eyes flicker with tiredness and dreams creep up in the corners of my eyes. It is cosy, small and warm in there, and all the troubles are lightyears away.
- A Victorian monologue/narrative poem (huddmusichallarchive.wordpress.com)
My mum lost all her hair because of cancer treatment she was going through. She looked like a tiny little pixie, vulnerable and fragile.
But she also looked very beautiful without her hair, there was something strangely feminine and timeless in the way she looked.
I felt bad saying it to her over and over again, fearing she might take it as a plain attempt to cheer her up rather than being the truth.
She denied it of course, called herself Gollum and ran past mirrors without a glance.
She is well again, has gained confidence and her hair has grown back, in a sweet mixture of grey and white.
My GP’s assistant phoned today, told me that I have got anemia and the doc will call later. She must have forgotten, since she never did. Nevermind, I will make a pestering call tomorrow.
Nowadays I can call anyone just like that, when I was younger calling people was something that almost reduced me to tears, for some reason it felt like an almost impossible task. Of course I did phone people, but there were always few strong heartbeats just before the phone was picked up in the other end.
Even more interestingly, this article mentions that phone-related anxiety in its list of signs for introverted people. I always thought it was just me being silly:
Not sure how reliable newspaper diagnosis are, but it is a bit of fun I suppose, and that bit about the phones really caught my eye. I always thought that perhaps it is the lack of eye contact with the person I was speaking to that made me so unsure about it all: when was my turn to speak, when a silence is too long and whether the other person is joking or not. Like mr. Bell must have felt like:
Welcome. This blog is just about me: I am 37, a mum to a little boy, self-employed designer, and I got issues. It’s a situation totally of my own making.
Ever since I was a teenager I thought I was prone to depression (some quirks in mental instability run in the family), and with the dawn of the internet and the glorious practise of googling symptoms reinforced this idea in my head.
Which is exactly what you can do with any ailment known to man, google it and you got it.
Anxiety disorder never even crossed my mind, but now after seeing my GP a week and a bit ago and being told that is what I had it does seem that it fits perfectly to everything I have been experiencing.
I have always hated confrontation and fights, probably due to the fact that I am not very quick to think on my feet at all. So, I always lose an argument. Now it has turned into not being able to say anything at all, add to that a generic sense of worry and dread over everything, including mundane things like missing the train or the shampoo bottles left on the windowsill and you got a nice little bundle of trouble with palpitations and sweaty hands.
I haven’t yet had a proper diagnosis; I am not on drugs or therapy so floating in a nice state of limbo at present, whilst waiting for some test results to come through.
This blog is about me trying to make sense of the situation, I thought it might be interesting to write whilst all this madness is going round in my head, rather than to try to catch it once it has ceased. Which it will, sooner or later.